Admissions
by Nooz
Summary: [Set in post-OotP, very slight HarryGinny] Harry refuses to tell his friends about the prophecy. However, they inevitably notice the changes in him, and try to find out.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: I know, I know, I should be working on my other Inuyasha sory, 'Rippling Changes' right now, but this idea hit me like a load of bricks and I just _had _to write it. It won't be more than two or three chapter, though, and I have no idea when I will update this again. Anyway, read and REVIEW! I love you guys!

They didn't understand _anything_.

Nothing I said in my defense penetrated their miniscule brains. And even if—_if_—I told them, poured out my heart and soul, presented it to them on a silver platter, they would still mutter, blink, scratch their heads, and shake from side to side at me. Their lives wouldn't stop, like mine did on that one horrible morning in Dumbledore's office. Their hearts wouldn't be ripped into a thousand pieces, like mine was that one terrible night in the Department of Mysteries when Lupin hoarsely whispered the words that killed me: _Sirius is dead. _Their shoulders would not slump, as mine did, burdened with the fate of the world. They wouldn't spend every moment of the day regretting, mourning, dieing on the inside; they wouldn't spend every night fighting off nightmares of faceless figures that pointed, laughed, and condemned. Why the hell would they want to know _anything_?

My hand fisted; my jaw clenched tightly. I stared out the window, determined to keep my mouth shut, and my already blazing temper in check. _'They don't need to know,'_ I kept telling myself. _'Don't burden them with your mess. Don't talk. Don't look. And most of all don't think. Don't think that, if you fail, the fate of the world is sealed. That if you fail millions will be killd and tortured. Don't think. Breath, in and out, in and out.' _

But they would not be put off.

They had obviously noticed the changes occurring in me—hell, even _I_ did, so whatever chances that they were subtle and unnoticeable went flying out of the window. They saw that I ate less, talked less, smiled less; they saw that every day, I would spend three or four hours scrutinizing the books Lupin and Sirius had given to me last year or talking with Moody, Lupin or Tonks; they saw that I took daily lessons in Occlumency from Snape (who had been convinced by Dumbledore to take me back) with little or no complaint; and, whenever the Headmaster, himself, would stop by, the long looks of understanding and wisdom that passed between us. They couldn't help but see, and now they couldn't help but wheedle and weep for me tell them what was wrong. At first, they believed that my newly solitary mien was because of Siruis'—going, but, as time progressed this summer, they came to realize that it had to much more. It was much more. They continued asking and begging for me to tell everything.

And I would _not_. I would not tell them that they all could very well be killed if they stayed near me. I would not tell them that the whole reason behind my sorry and sad excuse for a life was an idiotic prophesy made by my Divination professor (who was a _total_ whack job, by the way) that I would win in a duel with Lord Voldemort. I would not tell them that my fate was '_kill or be killed—and drag the entire planet along with you._'

If I did, the carefully built stone wall stationed between my emotions and the rest of my being would crack, and shatter. Everything would blend inside my mind, the truth, the lies, the regret, the grief, and the overwhelming responsibility; the screaming jumble of feelings I had spent the month at the Dursleys' trying desperately to suppress would mix, surge, rush around my psyche, push my to the edge, drive me to tears.

And a person with a horrifying burden like mine couldn't afford to cry. Still, they persisted, and one day, it all came tumbling out with the intensity of a tidal wave striking the shore, with the help of a certain Mr. Neville Longbottom—whom I will probably will be grateful all my life to for prodding it all out of me.

Here's to you, Neville.

_88888888_

It wasn't long after I had gotten back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place that the admission happened.

I was sitting on a window seat, glaring off into the distance with stormy eyes—wondering what might had happened if I had just stopped for a moment to consider what Hermione had been trying to say—that I loved playing the hero—if I hadn't let my hideously gargantuan ego in the way, that if I had just remembered the gift Siruis had given me for Christmas, and if I'd just stopped my ridiculous dread of the upcoming term cloud my vision, if I'd just voiced my suspicions of Kreacher—then Sirius would be alive right now. I sent a sour glance at the cold expanse of cushion next to me. He would be sitting next to me, maybe, putting and arm around my shoulders, maybe, then whispering gruffly in my ear that everything would be okay, that when the moment came, he would be there to help….

The grief welled inside my throat, blinding me, choking me. My sight blurred. I began blinking rapidly, willing the tears away, wishing the pain way, wishing that whatever had happened to me, _hadn't _happened to me, just anybody else..._anybody…_.

I leaned back and the mantra began.__

_Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. _

My mind cleared, my breathing slowed down, my heart stopped hammering. I sank into a state of semi-consciousness. Occlumency can be incredibly useful stuff when the time came. I basked in the tranquility, happy for even a moment of it. I moment of calm meant a moment away from the demons that haunted me, be it day or night. I hated the ones at night. Although I cleared my mind dutifully, the dreams still came. I could fight my thoughts during the day; I was powerless against the nightmares.

That was when they bombarded me.

"Harry…" Ron said, settling beside me. I purposefully ignored him and the others who came in with him. Perhaps if they thought I was asleep, they would leave me alone.

I was wrong. "Hey, Harry," Ron muttered, shaking my shoulder gently. I grunted.

They wouldn't give up. I heard rustling, and Hermione's hand was on my knee. She shook it a bit. "Come on Harry. I _know_ you're not asleep. Open your eyes."

No. If I opened my eyes, then they would be looking at me with expressions of worry, caring and endearment etched across their faces. The shocked looks of pity and the avoidance of me that would come after would be inevitable—and just as unbearable. Perhaps that was why I refused to answer them. I wanted them to care about me as long as long as fate would allow.

I heeded a loud sigh, and with no warning, a cushion hit me right in the face. _That_ got me to open my eyes.

I glared around and my eyes met Ginny's. I scowled.

She stared back at me defiantly. "What?" she snapped. "You were being a prat, acting like you were sleeping."

"You didn't have to throw a pillow at me," I retorted icily.

Her eyes narrowed.

Hermione cut in. "Whatever. Harry, listen to me. You can't just go on and mourn like that anymore—if that's even what you're doing. I have a feeling it's something else."

I glared at her. "And?"

Ron sighed, running his large hands through his hair. He turned to stare at me incredulously. "We what to know what the hell is wrong with you! Everyone _else_ seems to know!"

I felt my eyes narrow, my rage ignite. "And what does 'everyone else' say?"

Hermione put up a hand, signaling to Ron that he stop "That you're mourning for Sirius—but we know that that's not it. It's something else. You wouldn't be so isolated otherwise. You'd atleast make an effort."

I should have known Hermione would figure it out. Her eyes were filled with so much fret, so much pleading. My insides froze, and I came so close to telling her that she had hit the nail on head. Instead, I averted my gaze and stared stubbornly out the window.

I started again. _Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. _It calmed me down. __

"Leave me alone," said coldly, still refusing to meet their eyes. I saw Ron run his hands through his hair again. Ginny took aim and let another pillow fly at my head. I caught it without looking and threw it back at her. She didn't expect it. She dived, yelping.

I couldn't help it. I turned to her, smirked and said, "That's why you don't throw random things at people."

Hints of smiles drifted across their faces. Ginny's eyes narrowed and she said severely, "You are _so_ going down."

My own grin faltered. "Not today. Go away."

Everyone else's faces fell. Hermione sighed, closed her eyes, and opened then again. "Okay, I think we should stop pestering Harry so much. I mean if he really values us as friends, then he would tell us."

"Right," Ginny said, "I mean, if he thinks were total idiots who won't keep his secrets, then forget it."

"Fine with me," Ron agreed. "If Harry believes we don't care about him, then we should just leave him alone. Show him _then_ who cares."

I felt the cold fist of anger grip my heart.

_Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK _

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I would not blurt anything out. I would calm down and be rational. I _would._

I had myself just about under control when the deciding factor of the battle of wills came strolling through the door.

Neville Longbottom.

_Don't look. Don't think DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! _

I screamed the words inside my head, yelling and shouting at my self, yearning for control and yet enamored with the debacle of losing any semblance to it. Freedom seemed very appealing now, after my self-imprisonment: my vow of silence in all matters concerning what was wrong with me.

I quickly clamped down on my wild desires and said coldly, "Hello Neville."

The other three in the room spun around and greeted him with warm smiles. Hermione hugged him and pointed him to a chair. Ginny sat next to him.

Neville looked at me, his gaze hard. I met it with equal obstinacy.

"I heard everything you all were saying Harry. I think you really should tell everyone what's going on." Neville's voice was even, sure.

_Of course it would be! _

Every muscle in my body stiffened at his words, lashed with anger, boiling, steaming, and blistering—! Every particle of my mind screamed injustice, unfairness that I am subject to this devastating burden that I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, that my fate be sealed. What was the difference between me and Neville? _What was the bloody difference?! _

_Don't look. Don't think DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! _

I couldn't stand it anymore. I surge to my feet and leapt at the door.

_DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! **DON'T THINK!** _

I made it to the door, gripped the handle with a vice-like grip. One twist and I would be free—

Neville spoke again, "You're being a coward, Harry. Stop it, mate. Face your fear."

His tone was light, his comment a joke. In any other situation, I would have retorted with "As soon as you stop being afraid of the darkness in your shoes. Never know what lurks in there."

But this was not any other situation.

Once again, every muscle in my body hardened, coiled, waiting for just the signal to pounce and tear Neville to shreds.

Inside, I seethed. How dare he have the right to say that? How dare he have the right to sit there as if nothing was wrong? He should be grateful—so grateful that sobs should have been coming from his mouth that very moment. He was just as eligible as I was back then for Voldemort to pick. He got lucky. Neville needed to be taught a lesson.

Slowly, deliberately, I turned around, and faced Neville. The fire burning inside me was now as icy. I made sure that nothing of it showed on my face, but my eyes must have been lashed with fire because Neville paled and shrank back in his chair. I approached him, gradually, making each step a little longer than the last. Fury tore at my throat.

"Do you want to know why I'm so scared, Neville?" I asked, my tone dangerously soft, laced with venom. I screamed on the inside that he was an imbecile, a moron. _How dare he say that I should face my fears when he has no idea what he narrowly escaped? _It hit me that the reason Neville had no idea was because I'd never told him. Urges inside of me ordered me to leap at Neville, tear him apart, but I kept my body under control.

However, my mind was a completely different story. All rational thought flew out the window, and all I saw was red. Anger burned inside me—hurt, betrayal, regret and a burning inferno of rage were all I could see.

It was time for a bit of enlightenment.

Author's Notes: ah, well, here you go. Uh, yeah...It's a little shoddy, but I dunno. Hope you like.


	2. Chapter Two

My breath became labored as I approached Neville Longbottom. I advanced slowly, making each step seem like an eternity. I needed the time, to get my body in iron chains. If I didn't, Neville would be dead. Somehow, I knew that, somewhere in the back of my mind. If I let myself loose, I would destroy him. Destroy him for not being chosen, for leaving me to be the doomed one.

I passed an old vase. It began shaking, shattered after a moment.

The sudden noise seemed to bring Ron, Hermione and Ginny to their senses. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Ron stand furiously and demand that I stop, Hermione leap up and shill to Neville that he run and Ginny give a frightened squeak and scamper out of the room.

I didn't care. The blaze burning inside of me was ready to explode—and I was going to do nothing to stop it. Fury and grief mingled, making me a slave to their desires. Simply put, I didn't care—about anything—at that particular moment but grabbing hold of Neville and making him suffer.

Fire clouded my good sense. I had reached Neville, and my mouth twisted itself into a cruel smile. The poor boy was terrified. He pressed against the chair, burrowing in the cushion like a frightened mouse. He was letting out a series of squeaks, eyes frantic, pleading for me not to kill him.

Oh, how I reveled in his fear. _Let him feel just a second of the suffering I go through every bloody day_, an evil voice whispered inside of me, _let him live through a fraction of the nightmare. _

I leaned down slowly, placing a hand on each of the armrests. "Do you want to know why I'm so scared, Neville?" I asked tightly, my words shaking slightly. For a moment rage filled my vision, coursed through my blood, and my hands twisted of their own accord. My voice quickly became a yell.

"DO YOU WAN'T TO KNOW?" I screamed, white-hot fire ripped my insides. I bled, cursed, died everyday, and this oaf wanted me to stop and laugh? My blood suddenly seemed on fire, lightning cracked inside me. I seethed, "DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY THE HELL I'M SO FUCKING SCARED?"

Neville burrowed deeper in the chair, desperate.

Neville needed to know, _I_ needed him to know. I _needed_ to see him going through the same pain.

"I'LL TELL YOU WHY! I'M SO FUCKING SCARED BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS OUT TO GET ME! I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN KILL HIM! NO—ONE ELSE CAN! THE BASTARD **_CHOSE_** ME! **_ME! _**NOT YOU! WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN US**_? WHAT'S THE BLOODY DIFFERENCE?_**"

Neville let out a frightened gasp, eyes widening, fear draining out of them for a single moment.

Oh, yeah, _that_ was like a slap in the face. A slap that brought me back down to reality. Hard.

My insides trembled at what I'd done.

I slowly turned around, my heart hammering wildly. There they were. Mr. and Mrs. Weasly, Bill, Charlie, the twins, Lupin, Mad-eye, Neville's Grandmother, Tonks, Mudungus.

_They all knew_. The thought whispered inside my head. Suddenly, out of the void where Sirius had been, the one where I lost my emotions to sprang an invisible wall. It was intangible, nonexistent, but it was there. It separated me from the rest of the world. I was marked. I was hunted.

Hermione started, sobs coloring her voice, "Oh, Harry—"

I never gave her a chance to finish. I barreled out of the door, pushed my way through the crowd gathered there, and dashed lighting–fast all the way up to the master bedroom. I slammed the door shut and collapsed against it.

The tears threatened to come. I started on my mantra, but my heart wouldn't let me do it. I had spilled. They would all turn away from me, disgusted. They wouldn't want anything to do with the person that Voldemort would stop at nothing to destroy. The feeling of total isolation finally settled in like a cold and never-ending winter.

I'd never felt so alone.

The tears came, and I made no effort to stop them. I saw no reason to. There was no-one to be strong for anymore.

**Author's Notes**: This sprang outta nowhere! I just HAD to write it! Review! I love you all, and there's nothing you can do about it! Bwah-ness!

**G**: Hey! Yes, how _dare_ I leave you hanging! Anyway, there's only one more chapter after this one. Or I might just smash that and this one together. Whatever, man. Love ya! Oh, and btw, I stole your tiara. My sister's wearing it now, so…any damage is not my fault!

**Lady Angelique of mystique**: Thank you so much for reviewing! Buckets of love!


	3. Chapter Three

I stayed locked up in Sirius' old bedroom for a while after I confessed.

I really didn't do anything doing those five days. Lethargy had wormed its way into my limbs, melted my sinews into dust, and I found myself quite incapable of doing any activity. I simply lay on the floor, staring into space.

The one thing I avoided doing at all costs was to think. I couldn't allow myself to. If I did, the world would come crashing down around my shoulders. The void in my chest would gape, rise, swallow me up forever, and I wouldn't have any reason to live.

I lived in a constant sate of Occlumency. Continually breathing, clearing my mind, and desperately keeping demons with red eyes and skull-like faces away. When I was fatigued enough to slip into a restless bout of sleep, I would see his spidery hands reaching for me, lacing around my neck lovingly. I saw them squeeze. Felt them take away my life.

During those days, I built up more hatred for Voldemort than ever before. Whenever I thought of him, my very blood seemed to igniter, my eyes burned, and an all-encompassing need to kill surged through my psyche. My hands twitched and I caught up whatever fabric I could, curling my hands around it. I pretended it was his neck. It felt wonderful while the anger was there, but later, the feeling of being a helpless, trapped animal overrode my soul and an aching desire to fly way on my Firebolt took possession of me. But I couldn't. I couldn't go down stairs.

_'Coward.'_

I couldn't stand the thought of them staring at me as if I were some freak, a thing they didn't want to associate themselves with. Trust me, I know this: when it comes to survival, humans usually throw away all thoughts of companionship. I've felt that way so many times when staring Voldemort down, but I never allowed animalistic desires to envelope my mind. It was what separated me from the rest—my loyalty. I couldn't face them after I'd blown up at Neville like I did.

I've stared down the cold eyes of opposition before. There have always been people at Hogwarts who would rather I was dead, but my friends were always on my side. They were the comforting presence that told me that some parts of the world were okay to live in. Seeing them turn away from me would be akin to a death blow.

I suppose I was being selfish. I knew I should have separated myself from them the moment I found out. I should have ended it on my own terms.

But I was a selfish idiot and didn't. The feelings of shame and despair fogged up my vision; depression closed in on me like a dark, restricting blanket. Perhaps it was the hunger, but it felt awfully good to close my eyes and slip in and out of consciousness.

A small part of my mind whispered that I was killing myself. I told it to shut up.

_88888888_

Loud voices outside of my sanctuary disturbed my sleep on the fifth day. I opened tired eyes to the grey scenery inside the room, looking up at the bed and the windows from the floor where I lay. It occurred to me that I hadn't moved from the spot where I had initially collapsed. The thought brought a slight smirk on my face.

_'That's right. Think of stupid things. Don't focus on anything important. Don't go crazy.' _

My mind was fuzzy from lack of nutrition. I couldn't see very properly either. My glasses were a few inches from my head, but I lacked the sense of purpose to reach for them. I simply stared at them, noting how very round they were, and how their black rims had a bit of green on them.

"That's _it_, Hermione! He's been up there for five days! He's coming down _now_!"

Was that Ron yelling? Yes, I remembered Ron. Good, slightly awkward Ron. He'd always been my friend, except for a brief bout we'd had in fourth year but we'd smoothed that out. He'd always been by my side, the awesome right-hand man. He'd always taken my side, always believed in what I believed in. He'd even been willing to stare down Voldemort's wand for me.

"But Ron! Harry's probably very worked up right now! We should wait!"

Hermione. Wonderful, neat, ingenious Hermione. The one who had always been there for me, the one who had always had complete faith in me, the one who was, sometimes, that sole voice of reason in a sea of my anger. She had always looked out for me, always included me, always worried for me.

A pounding at the door startled me.

"Open up, Harry! I know you're awake! Open this door now!"

"Oh, Ron, please, don't force him! Harry, open up! It's all right if you don't talk or anything, but we have food."

Five years. Five years worth of memories swirled around in my brain, each lighting before my eyes. Ron and I playing chess. Hermione looking over our homework. Hermione running into the common room, face alight with words of S.P.E.W. Ron paying Quidditch with the team. Ron throwing up snails. Ron and I talking with Aragog. Hermione nagging me about the Marauder's Map.

Defining moments. Defining time.

They were the first people ever to acknowledge me as a friend, the ones to stay by my side.

The thought of what Voldemort could do to them froze my blood.

The pounding on the door continued, increasing in intensity.

I squeezed my eyes shut. _'Don't talk, don't look, don't think! Don't talk, don't look, don't think!_ _Don't talk, don't look, don't think! DON'T THINK!' _

The mantra didn't work. My mind was slipping. Tears formed themselves at the corners of my eyes, and I ground my fists into to them, willing them to stop, stop the pain, stop the nightmares, _just stop! _

_'Stop the images, the memories! Stop throwing these horrible things at me! Save me from this Hell inside of me!' _

For the first time in my life, I curled up into a little ball and prayed for salvation.

And it came in the form of the door swinging open and crashing into my head.

**_Author's notes_**Here you go! I've decided to extend this ficcy a bit. I hope it works…twiddles thumbs Oh, and please remember to review!


	4. Chapter Four

**Author's Notes: **Ah, well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I doubt anyone remembers this story any longer, but, oh well. I'm off to my native homeland in a couple days, so I thought that I should finish off _this_ story at least. Things are really looking tough this summer and then onto the school year, but I'll squeeze in updates for my other stories…somewhere…

* * *

Awareness came to me in shades. In the dark recesses of my mind, I could fathom that there was a thought, a whim, a whisper, a dieing word—something—highly unpleasant. My insides were laden with lead: something was very wrong. And yet, I could not reach for it, could not grasp it as my thick, muddled mind fought its way toward consciousness. 

A warm hand smoothed my brow. It made slight circular motions with its fingers, calming, comforting. Perhaps everything was okay after all.

I opened my eyes blearily. I couldn't make anything out. Everything was swathed in shadows.

"There, there, dear. Every thing will be alright," a voice murmured. It was vaguely familiar, like a lost shadow on the wind. Its tones were warm, maternal, oozing love and gentle grace. Like a mother.

It couldn't be my mother, though…hands were pulling me up into a sitting position, my head squeaked in pain, but I paid no heed, there were more important things to think about…no, _she _had died a while ago, a long time ago, with my father…someone slipped a hot steamy liquid down my throat, I felt warmth spread thorough my body like bonfire…

"Harry…?" a voice whispered cautiously.

Why were they scared? It wasn't as if I was something to be feared…

"Harry…uh, we need to talk to you…"

They needed to talk to me…why…?

Suddenly, something clunked into place in my head. I froze, blood running to ice: _I told them._ I spilled it out to them, regurgitated the secret that was the horrendous disease that seeped through my veins and my mind, poisoned me, drained me, destroyed me. And I'd told them.

I screwed my eyes shut—and a realization hit me: _enough. _Enough pain, enough torture, enough fatigue, enough heartbreak, enough having to endure everything and anything alone, of carrying the weight of the world and hiding from disbelieving eyes how much it hurt, enough skulking in shadows; enough. I was tired. Come what may, I'd face it. I wouldn't resist—I _couldn't_ resist. It took a lot of vigor to resist. I didn't have that, not anymore.

I opened my eyes. And there they were: Ron and Hermione, both with unreadable expressions on their faces—pity?

No, I _didn't_ want their pity—I _didn't_ want them to treat me like shattered glass—I struggled with my covers—my hands were slippery—oh, god why was everything so damn _dark—_?

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed shrilly, leaping to her feet with tears sparkling in her eyes. Just like so many times before, unmindful of my injuries, she threw her arms about me and sobbed into my shoulder.

"Oh, Harry, I'm—I'm sorry—I just—just didn't _know_, oh how horrible it m-must have been—k-keeping all bot—bottled up inside—"

Shocked, I patted her back as well as I could, trying to soothe her, but having no idea how to soothe the ache in my soul. She pulled back after a minute, wiping her tears.

"How long?" Ron asked suddenly, flatly.

I whipped my head around as fast as I could.

"How long?" Ron repeated in the same dead-pan tone. He seemed to be deep in thought, staring at a point on the wall high above my head. "How long did you know?"

I stared at Ron—and before I knew it, the rusty hinges in my jaw moved.

"Since the night at—" my throat closed.

He nodded, and suddenly, looked like a beaten old man. Like the image of a single teardrop gliding down a weathered old face filled with grief. A face that had provided relief, comfort. A teardrop hung in the balance of time.

Ron nodded, looking down at his lap. He ran his hands through his hair. And even in my muddled mind, I knew that something very important was going to happen.

Ron glanced up at me at last, and said, "Remember—way back in out first year—with the Sorcerer's Stone?"

My mind flew back over the years that seemed more like centuries, eras, eons, epochs. "Yeah…"

"You were gonna go in alone."

I looked down at my hands, remembering. And somehow now, with Ron and Hermionethere with me as anchors, holding on to the real world, nothing gaped and enveloped me. It was soothing. Balm to a wound.

"You were gonna go in, and face down You-Know-Who alone. D'you remember what we did?"

There was something there, something I needed to understand, but my mind skittered away form it, too bruised and battered.

"We went with you, Harry," Hermione interjected in a small voice. "And there were no second thoughts. Same with the night at the Department—" her throat closed too.

"I don't know about the whole thing with you and You-Know-Who," Ron said, looking at me full in the face. "But we were with you whenever we could. And with this war …it's the same. I don't care _who_ you have to kill. _I'm with you_."

Hermione nodded fervently.

It took a moment to sink in; when it did--it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

Fireworks burst inside my stomach, lightening me, relieving me, letting me breathe. I sprouted wings, it seemed, and for the first time since the heart-wrenching morning in Dumbledore's office I didn't feel alone. The burden was lighter. Still there, but lighter. _Shared._

I smiled.

Ron and Hermione smiled back.

And I knew—I _knew_—now that I could face whatever the world threw my way, I wouldn't fall when the earth rocked under my feet because Ron and Hermione would reach out and steady me. We would come through this, because, through the milling mass of doubt, hatred, malice, evil and cruelty, hung a quivering, mystical, all-encompassing phoenix song note called _friendship. _

I groped for words to tell them in my fluttering mind, but I didn't have to. They already knew.

**End **


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